There was only one woman waiting at the doctor’s office when I opened the door. She was petite, with the kind of sterling gray hair we all wish for in old age. She held a Ladies Home Journal magazine close up to her nose and barely looked up as she saw me come into her line of vision.

I nodded hello. She barely acknowledged me. A few minutes of ensuing silence went by. She read and I flipped through torn magazines noting several missing pages. I considered staring into my phone, but decided that the doctor’s office desperately needed redecorating or should I say decorating, and I began imagining it transformed, beginning with a scarlet red paint on the walls, a large oriental rug ( a variety of plants, three at least consisting of jade, spider and fern. I considered the time of day 2:00p.m and the sun. A coffee table, that’s what was fundamentally missing in this room…. I weighed materials: Glass? No, not good for a doctor’s office, bamboo possibly, a …

Suddenly a large man wearing a white dress shirt and khaki pants opened the door. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said like he knew us. His bass voice was so powerful, it could have rearranged our chairs. “I hope you all are having a good day.” .

Do you mind,” he said to Ms. Sterling Locks as he walked slowly toward an empty chair next to her, “if I sit here and look out the window for my mother?”

“No,” she murmured, mesmerized by this man. She pretended to keep reading, but. I could tell she wasn’t. Her magazine had lowered ever so slightly. Not a page moved. Not a rustle was heard.

They need music too in this office. I thought. A little “Bubbly” by Colbie Caillat would help.

I observed him carefully; I didn’t want him to think I was staring. He didn’t move an inch as he continued looking out the window for his mother, as if were the only job in the world.

He treated the doctor’s unattractive waiting room like someone’s home. I respected him for that. Somehow he had learned you don’t enter a space without greeting the people in it, whether they are strangers or not. And you don’t sit next to people unless you ask their permission.

I was sure that he entered all spaces the same way and I wanted to ask him about it. Just as I was thinking about how to word my question, the nurse called my name. I gathered my handbag and stood up. I only wish I could have seen how he greeted his mother. I imagined he fussed over her with that sonorous voice of his. Maybe he would even sing to her. What a lucky woman.

As I get older, some words become stranger and stranger. Words that mean one thing to me, mean something else to Generation Y, or Gen Y for short.

Call me old-fashioned. I know words can change meaning over time, but for goodness sakes, “shut up,” just means “shut up.” It means “shut your mouth and don’t utter another word or I’ll be even more pissed off than I already am.” It does not mean “ha ha, what a crazy story you’re telling me.”

I’ve been told “shut up,” at least three times lately by different Gen Y women. What they mean to say is “Like wow, what you’re saying is really wild, cool or unreal!” All I hear is something ugly.

Saying “shut up,” is like me swearing at my Mom. When I was growing up these words were never acceptable by my Mom’s standards, so why are Gen Y women that I barely know – women nearly young enough to be my daughters – saying bad words to me?

The first time a young woman said, “shut up” to me, I was buying cosmetics at a department store. I wanted to slap her, but instead I just stared at her. She thought a story that I had told her was funny, but it was inappropriate.

I almost straightened her out, but decided that was her mother’s job, not mine. What’s even worse is that she probably thought that I liked hearing those words. “No, no my dear, you’re mistaken. It’s worse than nails on a chalk board,” I wanted to say.

What worries me is, what’s happened to boundaries? Doesn’t she know that I’m not in her inner circle where her slang belongs?

I don’t want to hear day in and day out about America’s “hookup culture.” I don’t want my friends to say, “Let’s hook up around 7:00p.m for dinner,” and, yes, that’s happened.

“Let’s not hook up,” I wanted to answer. “Let’s just get together and have dinner. “

“You are your words” is what I want to say to people who don’t use their words responsibility. People should take pride in their words and use them thoughtfully.
We should be grateful that we have the freedom to use words as we wish in America. Without thinking about what our words really mean, we can lose our civility.